


You Were Stardust

by baileycantsleep



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Hurts - Freeform, Idiots, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Mild Language, Short Story, Slow Build, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Teenagers, everything, joshler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-15 22:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5802310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baileycantsleep/pseuds/baileycantsleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is so predictable. Live. Die. In the middle, you either have fun or you don’t. Depending on your ability to take risks is whether or not you have fun. And that’s the part in life where all you can do is think “I fucked up,” or “I can’t believe I made it this far.” Humans are strange creatures. We are made from energies from supernovas and black holes, the breath of a god. It seems like some people, are made of collapsing stars, some may even be energy from a dinosaur. We all are made of something. It’s our personalities, our thoughts, our words, that reflect what it was. When we die, our energy goes on to make a story almost as beautiful as we were.<br/>The person I met in the middle of the street at 2 am was a perfect disaster. Galaxies were held in his eyes and the energy from suns fueled his heart. He didn’t tell me his name, but he told me what is was like to be him. How easy it was for him to pretend. In return for his stories, I gave him one of mine. My best story was only worth half of his worst story, but he insisted it was beautiful. In my head, I thought that it could never be as beautiful as him, for I was only a common household dust, whereas he was stardust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lane Boy

Everything is so predictable. Live. Die. In the middle, you either have fun or you don’t. Depending on your ability to take risks is whether or not you have fun. And that’s the part in life where all you can do is think “I fucked up,” or “I can’t believe I made it this far.” Humans are strange creatures. We are made from energies from supernovas and black holes, the breath of a god. It seems like some people, are made of collapsing stars, some may even be energy from a dinosaur. We all are made of something. It’s our personalities, our thoughts, our words, that reflect what it was. When we die, our energy goes on to make a story almost as beautiful as we were.  
The person I met in the middle of the street at 2 am was a perfect disaster. Galaxies were held in his eyes and the energy from suns fueled his heart. He didn’t tell me his name, but he told me what is was like to be him. How easy it was for him to pretend. In return for his stories, I gave him one of mine. My best story was only worth half of his worst story, but he insisted it was beautiful. In my head, I thought that it could never be as beautiful as him, for I was only a common household dust, whereas he was stardust. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
I heard singing songs in the streets and my heartbeat in my ears. I held my drink close to my chest, ignoring all of the already buzzed teens stumbling over each other in an attempt to dance. I made my way around the makeshift dance floor and to my friends Patrick and Brendon. Patrick waved at me as I sat down.  
“Hey, Tyler! I didn’t think you were going to come.”  
“I wasn’t, but then I got bored and decided this was better than nothing.”  
“Fair enough.”  
Brendon looked at the two boys. “Have you guys met the new kid yet?”  
“What new kid?”  
I was surprised I hadn’t heard of the new kid. Our town was small, so much so that everyone knew everybody and knew exactly what they were doing at all times. It wasn’t often that we got new people on the town. The most exciting thing that normally happened in this town was the senior end of the year party.  
“He was supposed to be moving in yesterday. The rumors say he hasn’t even left his house.” Brendon grinned. He always enjoyed a good rumor. This town was full of them. What they lacked in excitement, they made up for in rumors. You couldn’t have one conversation without finding out what at least one of the towns’ citizens is up to.  
“I’m sure he’s just too busy,” Patrick said, “he did just move in, after all.”  
“Yeah, Brendon. The guys busy.”  
Brendon scoffed at the two. “Don’t you two have any imaginations? Honestly, I try to make the new guy sound mysterious and you both defend him. You don’t even know him for Christ’s sakes.”  
“I get that, but we probably shouldn’t start making rumors about the guy when he’s not even been here a week.”  
“Tyler is right, Brendon”  
“Whatever. Let’s get wasted.”  
Brendon jumped up and ran off to the nearest source of booze. Patrick and I laughed before trailing after the party animal.  
After many beers and several shots of an unknown substance, we were drunk. Eventually, I had joined the crowd of drunken dancers that I was avoiding not so long ago. The music sunk into my brain and I felt like nothing could stop me. Like I would live forever. Everyone's bodies bumped against one another. Nobody seemed to understand the concept of personal space and no one could find it in them to give enough of a crap.  
Somehow, the entire party eventually broke up. It was nearing two am as the drunken teens all made their way home. I wandered around the streets for quite a bit. I had lost track of Brendon and Patrick and left them at the party. I wandered to a part of town that I usually don’t go to. It was past the small strip mall and the rundown hotel.  
I hummed quietly whilst going down the streets and stared at the asphalt.  
I prepared to take another step, but stopped.  
There was a boy with red hair. He was sitting on the curb and rubbing at his eyes. It seemed as if he had just woken up. The remains of tears stained his cheeks. The bags under his eyes showed that the boy hadn’t slept for a while.  
“Um… Are you okay?”  
The boy looked up at me, a quick flash of emotion shading his face before I was covered with a calm, collected expression.  
“’M fine.”  
“Are you sure, because you sure as hell don’t look fine to me.”  
“Well, you don’t look too great, yourself.”  
“Fair enough. What are you doing on this side of the town so late at night?” I began to make my way over to the boy and sat next to him. He smiled at me.  
“Same as you, I’m lost.”  
“How did you know I was lost?”  
“You just have that face that resembles a lost puppy is all.”  
“Is that supposed to be some kind of backhanded compliment?”  
The boy shook his head. “No, it’s not”  
I closed my eyes. “I haven’t seen you around before. What’s your name?”  
“You don’t need to know that.”  
“But it’s just a simple question!”  
“And a stupid one.”  
“I’m just trying to learn your name how is that stupid?”  
“Because, it’s the question everyone else asks, and I can tell you aren’t like the other people out there. You’re different. Special. So ask me something else, something worth knowing. This isn's a highway. You don't have to stay in a lane.”  
I stopped for a moment. Was this guy crazy? He wouldn’t tell me his name but he would answer to a question that would give him “something worth knowing.” I have barely even known the guy for five minutes and he’s already turning out to be a complete weirdo. Something about the boy attracted me. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but I trusted him. Not a lot, but more so than most people I meet.  
I took a deep breath, “Tell me your story. How you got here. Why you’re here. Anything and everything about you, except your name.”  
“That’s more like it.”  
He then began his story. The story I would never forget, no matter how hard I tried.  
It all started on June 18, 1988 in Columbus, Ohio. He had two sisters and a brother. He had a fairly normal childhood, except boy wasn’t really allowed to listen to music as a child. Despite that, he still snuck into the music store once a week to ask for suggestions from the people that worked there. Eventually, they began to know him by his first name. At a young age he decided that he loved music so much that he wanted to pursue it. He began to play drums at him local music store, the clerks liked him enough to let him use the drum set for free as long as he didn’t break anything.  
“After I learned drums, I felt invincible. Like nothing could stop me. But then, my mom started to get these coughs.”  
His mom smoked a lot, he explained. Occasionally she would stop for a bit, but then she would relapse, fall back into the pit of half a pack a day. Eventually, the coughing came so violent and frequent that the teenager and his siblings had to force his mother to go to the doctor one day. When she came home, she was shaking. Instead of coughing, that night was filled with crying.  
The doctor explained to her that she had Lung Cancer and only had a few months to live.  
“I don’t know why I did it, but I started to leave the house more often. Didn’t come back till later. It’s almost like I thought that if I disappeared long enough she would get better. I started to drown myself in music and parties. I became a completely different person. I wasn’t me anymore, I was a shadow of what used to be me. I was like a walking corpse. Wouldn’t walk, talk or eat.”  
I looked at the boy, he was rubbing at his eyes again. He explained how that when his mother died, he assumed the responsibility of taking care of his siblings. He dropped out last year so he could take on a job full time just so they could finish out school without having to worry about anything. The pay wasn’t enough to keep the house they lived in. The boy decided that before they got kicked out, they had to find a cheaper place. He began his search and found this town.  
“The apartment in this shithole of a town are much cheaper than in Columbus. It’s also a lot easier to keep track of everything.”  
There was a small silence. It wasn’t the silence that came along when you didn’t know what to say, but the opposite. The silence that came when you have so much more to say but can’t say it, can’t put it in the right words.  
The boy looked up at me “Your turn to tell me something. Anything you want.”  
I shook my head, “I’m not interesting at all. Sorry. I’ve lived here my whole life. There’s nothing special about me.”  
“That’s where you’re wrong. You are special. Just one story. That’s all I need.”  
“But-“  
“No butts, that’s for the second date.”  
I swear, in that moment, my face was as red as a baboons asscheek.  
“F-fine. Um… Last year, I started to write songs and learning piano and ukulele. I’m not very good, but that’s the best I’ve got.”

“The best you’ve got is good enough for me.”  
I stared at the boy. The boy with the red hair who was a mystery wrapped in a riddle. The boy who is different from everyone in this godforsaken town. He seemed so beautiful. Eventually, I was able to tear my eyes away from him. The streetlamps began to flicker off as the night came to a close and the sun began to rise.  
“Shit. I’ve got to go.”  
“That’s fine. I’ve gotta go get ready for work anyways. I’ll see you around. I’m counting on hearing one of those songs of yours one day.”  
“Good luck with that.” I started my way across the street, wobbling at first. My head hurt like a motherfucker, but I ignored it. I had to find my way home before my mom and dad realized I wasn’t home. I turned around to wave goodbye, but the boy of mysteries was already gone.

***  
When I got home, my dad was snoring loudly. I trekked into the kitchen, grabbed an Advil, and made my way upstairs. I looked around my room. My ukulele sat on my desk next to my keyboard. My bed was a mess of sheets and clothing. My floor was covered in things ranging from Pokemon cards to old homework assignments. I made my way over to the chest that had TYLER printed across the top. I opened it and pulled out my journal. I turned the pages until i found one that hadn't been used yet.  
I took a deep breath and started to write.  
They say stay in your lane boy, lane boy  
But we go where we want to  
They think this thing is a highway, highway  
But will they be alive tomorrow?

I took a deep breath and allowed stardust boy to invade my thoughts.


	2. Stressed Out

Beep.  
Beep.  
Beep.  
The ever so familiar noise began to resound through the room. I took a deep breath, nestling under my blankets even further. I began to think about skipping school. Before I could complete my plan, my mom came into my room and turned on my light. I pulled the comforter over my head.  
“Tyler, what are you still doing in bed? Wake up.”  
“But Mom,” I groaned, rolling onto my back.  
“Don’t ‘but Mom,’ me, Tyler. It’s your senior year. You need to keep yourself on track so you get a good job and make enough income for yourself and a nice girl.”  
I sighed. I haven’t come out to my parents, yet. I was much too afraid of disappointing them. They always imagined me with a nice girl, in the typical suburban house.  
I rolled out of bed, instantly regretting my decision when my body hit the cold hardwood floors. I pushed myself up off the ground and made my way over to my closet. Ah, yes. The place where I spend most my time. I grabbed random items of clothing and pulled them on as I made my way to the bathroom, beginning my usual decent into deep thoughts.  
When I was little, we would play outside all the time. We would pretend to be impossible things, kings and queens. Astronauts. We would pretend we ruled the whole universe. At that time, we did. The world wasn’t as complicated. Our momma’s sang us to sleep.  
I remember a few things from being a child. The one time myself and some kids from the park decided we were going to run away to space and become friends with aliens. At the moment, we didn’t see the flaws in the plan. We had all decided to meet up after school the next day with all the things we needed to build a rocket ship. I brought tin foil and three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The other kids brought random things that seemed to have come out of their father’s toolboxes.  
We started to build the rocket ship around the swings, believing that if we wrapped the seats in it, we could fly into outer space. We all shared the peanut and butter and jelly sandwiches as we worked. When we were done, we all sat down and began to swing. We all screamed and laughed, pretending that we could see stars and aliens. I could almost swear we were there for hours. We were perfectly fine with pretending we were in space. It was amazing. There was some sort of beauty to it, to imagining. To seeing the world as something better than it really is.  
But now, all we are is stressed. We don’t imagine things anymore. Instead, we study until our brains leak out. We cry into our pillows at night and drink till we pass out. We throw aside our feelings and stuff them in jars. This is the generation of broken kids. The kids who would rather break themselves even further than admit they are broken because our parents say crying isn’t appropriate, that we don’t have anything to cry about.  
I always wonder why I ever wanted to grow up.  
I made my way down the stairs. My mom was making pancakes. The smell hung in the air, almost as if calling the family to the breakfast table.  
I quickly grabbed a plate before my brother could eat them all and drifted into the kitchen, stuffing whole pancakes into my mouth at a time.  
I attempted to thank my mom for the food, but it came out like I was saying ‘fanksr thfd.’ She seemed to understand me, though. I shouldered my backpack and- after waving by at my mom, of course- left the house. As I walked down the road, I started humming one of the older songs I made and wondered if I would ever actually sing them to anyone other than my mom.  
They could be better. I mean, they kind of suck. They could have better chords, better sounds, be original. If I didn’t have to make them rhyme, everything would be so much easier.  
I pushed those thoughts aside. That isn’t me. That’s Blurryface.  
***  
When I walked into the school, I was hit with the small of sweat, cologne, and jerks. It was a scent that I knew fairly well after spending four years here. Middle school was worse though, because it also smelled like ass due to a few of the students refusing to wear deodorant.  
I ignored the smell and made my way to my locker. Brendon and Patrick were already there. Patrick was wearing his ever so annoying fedora and several layers of seemingly random items of clothing. Brendon was wearing a tshirt and pants, and looked better than most the human population. Both of them were frowning.  
Brendon frowned. “You left us at the party, where were you? We tried to call.”  
“Oh, the party… Yeah, I just left when it looked like everyone else was leaving and wandered around town until I found my house.”  
“Really? Tyler, you could’ve gotten hurt!” Patrick didn’t look like a concerned friend, but a worried mother.  
“I didn’t, so it’s okay.”  
“It’s not ‘okay.’ Patrick is right, you could’ve gotten hurt, or worse. We made a deal at our first party, remember? Don’t-“  
“Leave each other. I know. I was there. I’m sorry, guys, really, but I was drunk and high and I didn’t know what I was doing when I left. My head was in scrambles.”  
Patrick sighed. “Okay. Don’t do it again, Ty.”  
“Okay, Mother Patrick.”  
The bell rang and we all began to rush to our classes. The whole student body rushed this way and that, pushing each other in attempts to get to class. The school was nearing full capacity, making it hard to get around without having to push someone to get there. The three minutes between class was barely enough to let all four hundred and seventy two of us get to our classes, but we managed.  
I plopped myself down into my desk and looked up. As soon as the teacher was finished calling roll, he began to ramble on about something I didn’t understand at all. I had given up on math a long time ago and it was a miracle that I have made it all the way to Algebra II. The class seemed to drag on and on, and when the bell rang I jumped up and literally ran out of the class. I was ready to get to the music room. I rushed out of the school and towards the auditorium. When I got there, the room was completely empty with an exception of two random kids and a teacher. At the front of the room, was my ukulele, resting in its case. I grabbed my ukulele out of its case and smiled. I made my way to the corner of the makeshift music room and started to tune it.  
I began to strum it, playing chords and humming along. I quietly wished I had a better singing voice. I strummed another chord. The chords were similar to all the other ones I made. It was like I couldn’t make any new chords.  
I placed the lyrics to a song I made last year in front of me and started playing and singing quietly.  
“She asked me ‘Son when I grow old, will you buy me a house of gold? And when your father turns to stone, will you take care of me?’”  
***  
The week was filled with boring facts and my mom pestering me about homework. When Friday rolled around, it was finally time to let myself live a little. My grades were better, which wasn’t exactly good considering the higher my grades, the higher my stress levels.  
I made my way out the door, waving goodbye to my parents before getting into Brendon’s old convertible.  
When Patrick and I make fun of him for it, he says at least he has a car.  
“Who’s throwing a party this week?” I asked.  
“No one. It’s at a warehouse down the road from McDonalds.” Brendon started the car and began to drive.  
“Well that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”  
When we arrived at the warehouse, nearly every upperclassman was seemingly in there.  
Brendon parked and we got out. We grinned and looked at each other.  
“Welcome to Paradise, boys,” Patrick said, looking at Brendon and I.  
***  
The music was loud, but the people were louder. Everyone was screaming at the top of their lungs. Stupid grins were plastered on their faces. Brendon and Patrick went to go get drinks, so I was left standing in the middle of the floor. I looked around. A flash of red caught my eye and I looked that way. It was the boy. I started running over to him. Someone screamed the name “Josh” and he turned.  
So that was his name. I got to him and tapped his shoulder. He turned around, beer in hand.  
“Oh, it’s you.”  
“Yeah, its me.”  
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”  
“I wasn’t either.”  
“So, how about that song?”  
I rolled my eyes. “You’re not going to hear them.”  
“I think I will one day.” He smiled at me.  
His smile was contagious, so I couldn’t help smiling back.  
“I’m Tyler, by the way. You didn’t let me tell you my name last time we met.”  
Josh rolled his eyes. “I’m Josh.”  
I resisted the urge to say ‘I know.’ It would be kind of creepy.  
“Do you watch Supernatural?”  
“Yes. That show is sick.”  
“So sick.”  
“Hey, can I have your number?”  
I froze. Was he making a move on me? No. He just wanted to be friends. That’s all. Friends.  
“Sure, man.”  
I grabbed my mini music journal out of my pocket and tore out a piece, then wrote my number down on it.  
“There.” I handed him my number, “Hey, do you want to dich this place? This parties a bust.” It was an obvious lie. This party was one of the biggest ones that happen during the school year, but I wanted a chance to talk to Josh and get to know him without drunken teenagers jumping and screaming around us.  
He smiled at me. Damn, that smile. It made me want to melt.  
***  
The night was full of angsty teenage ramblings and complaining about school. We slowly made our way to the music store. Josh and I spent half the night showing each other our favorite artists and albums. We joked with each other and played random instruments together.  
Eventually, we had to leave. It was nearing two in the morning as we walked home in comfortable silence. Josh stared at the ground, deep in thought. The moon lit his face up, making him look as if her were an angel. A punk rock angel. Before I could stop myself I whispered “You look beautiful in the moonlight.”  
Josh turned to face me, “I’m not beautiful. You are.” Just as I opened my mouth to reply, he started to walk away. If only he saw what I saw.  
After a night of getting to know Josh, I found that we didn’t have a lot in common, but that didn’t matter. Somehow, we clicked anyways. It seemed like something from a fanfiction, really. It was like, if I ever told anyone, they would laugh. But in my head, I would know, and I would smile. They’ve never met someone like this. They don’t have someone who, to them, has a voice like a song, and a smile like the sun, or eyes like the stars. They haven’t fallen in love with a stardust person.  
I sat on my bed, contemplating what to do now. I glanced up at my desk. My journal sat atop it. I grabbed it, and started.  
‘I wish I found some better sounds no one’s ever heard  
Wish I found a better voice and sang some better words  
Wish I found some chords in an order that is new  
Wish I didn’t have to rhyme every time I sang  
I was told when I get older all my fears would shrink but now I’m insecure and I care what people think  
My name’s Blurryface and I car what you think  
Wish we could turn back time  
To the good old days  
When our mommas sang us to sleep but now we’re stressed out…’

***  
I smiled at Josh, and he smiled back.   
Our wedding day had finally come.   
'He's the tear in my heart...'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Tell me if you see anything funky. Thanks!!

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if you see anything that isn't correct or should be corrected.Thanks for reading!


End file.
